


divorce attorneys HATE this one simple trick

by rathalos, woofio



Series: college au [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, a bit of angst (as a treat), literally so self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathalos/pseuds/rathalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/woofio/pseuds/woofio
Summary: All roads have a beginning, a crossroads or two, and perhaps even an end.As a girl, Lal trips headfirst into love and slips sideways into devotion. Such an event occurring seven more times hadn't ever really crossed her mind.Falling for someonecouldbe called the easy part.(An out-of-order series of snapshots of first meetings between the Arcobaleno.)
Relationships: Arcobaleno/Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)
Series: college au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016811
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as you can see, we love the arcobaleno
> 
> EDIT: some clarification. these are first meetings between the arcobaleno, but they're going to be out of order since inspiration strikes whenever and doesn't give much of a choice as to what we write. so although luce is actually the last to join the arco's relationship, her chapter is up first and will be followed by whoever else we've writteen.

The jam-packed throng of shoppers. The still, warm air underneath the sun-baked awnings of the market booths. The scent of ripened fruit that never quite seems to stop tickling her nose.

Lal breathes it all in, closing her eyes against the early morning sunlight, taking comfort in the familiar sensations.

Ah, but she really shouldn’t dawdle like this—between Skull managing to sleep through his alarm, Colonnello burning his first attempt at breakfast, and Fon catching her on the way out the door to steal a kiss or two (or ten), saying that she and Skull had gotten here late would be a _massive_ understatement.

“God, it’s all picked over,” Lal sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Skull makes a quiet, sympathetic noise, the sound nearly lose to the bustle of the crowd. “Skull, can you go get the car and bring it around to the curb in front? I just need to get the apples for ‘Nello’s whatever and then I’ll be done here.”

“Pie,” Skull provides. Lal makes a face. That… is definitely not her favorite dessert. “Also I had to park kind of far, so, uh, take your time?”

Lal watches him go fondly—clearly Skull doesn’t have much experience with crowds like this, judging from the way he weaves back and forth in between people and (unsuccessfully) attempts to cut across a line in order to shorten his walking distance. Just before he disappears out of earshot, Lal thinks she hears him muttering something along the lines of, “Now if I could remember where I parked the stupid fucker.” Her stomach drops for a second, but she shrugs it off. It’s Skull. He’ll figure everything out… _eventually_.

She sighs, more out of habit than from exasperation or stress, and makes her way towards her goal, inevitably jostling a couple of people who don’t manage to avoid her on time.

When Lal gets to her preferred apple stand—the one she _swears_ sells better produce, not the one all the way at the end of the lot whose selection is absolutely abysmal—she finds that it boasts only a meager, pitiful selection of fruits. They’re of decent quality, at the very least.

The owner of the stall knows her—familiarity borne from Lal’s frequent visits to this stall—and usually she can expect a cheerful greeting, maybe a bit of small talk. Today, though, he has his back turned to her as he engages a customer on the opposite side of the stall.

Lal doesn’t think much of it, instead casting her eyes towards the display and going about her business.

Unfortunately, her plans to secure only the best of apples for ‘Nello are rudely interrupted when, upon reaching for a second fruit, her hand collides with someone else’s. Lal clicks her tongue, turning to the stranger with an insult already poised on the tip of her tongue—but when she sees who she’s addressing, the words die on her lips.

Lal… Lal likes to _think_ she isn’t a superficial person, but considering the fact that just one look at this woman’s face is nearly enough to send her into cardiac arrest, things aren’t looking so good for the mental image she’s built for herself.

“Mom?”

Puzzled, Lal glances downward, raising her eyebrows when she makes eye contact with the young girl at the stranger’s knee. She clutches at the back of (presumably) her mother’s dress, staring up at Lal with wide blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologizes, drawing Lal’s attention back to their—still joined, Lal realizes with an equal amount of horror and embarrassment—hands, and the apple between them.

The woman’s hand is warm and soft and her fingers are wrapped around Lal’s, and god, this entire situation is so _unreal._

“No, I’m—I’m the one who should apologize,” Lal says, jerking her hand back without thinking. The fruit comes with her.

The woman’s surprise (lips parted slightly, eyes wide, hand curled out as if to reach towards Lal and the apple she’d wrested away) sends a stab of guilt through her chest. Lal _knows_ the right thing to do would be to apologize, but she isn’t thinking straight today—instead of doing anything even remotely sensible, she runs away, stuffing the apple into one of the bags hanging off her elbows and hurrying in the direction of the parking lot.

Lal finds Skull’s car quickly enough. After that, it’s a matter of throwing herself into the passenger seat, dropping one bag on the floor and setting the other one in her lap, and buckling her seatbelt.

Skull leans over to peck her on the cheek, and she smiles out of reflex. Too bad for him that her mind is still stuck on that dumpster fire of an interaction.

“Go,” she says tiredly. “Please.”

 _Why_ had she ripped her hand away like that?

“That was quick,” Skull comments, shifting the car into drive and slowly peeling away from the curb. He eyes her bag of groceries. “Although, Lal, I don’t think two apples is, y’know. Enough. To make a pie. Unless he was doing a mini one and I somehow missed—”

“Oh my god, I didn’t pay for those,” Lal realizes, burying her face in her hands. “Skull, I just stole those apples and I _didn’t even get enough._ ”

In a bid to make Lal actually have a heart attack instead of just coming close, Skull takes a hand of the steering wheel to pat her on the shoulder. “It’s fine. We can just get them later, yeah? But, uh… why the theft? Did something happen?”

“Someone, more like,” Lal mutters, lowering her arms and crossing them over her chest.

She looks at the two lonely, lonely apples sitting side-by-side in her shopping bag, nestled comfortably next to a bunch of celery stalks. Ugh. They’re a brand of shame. A reminder of her humiliation at the hands of her own damn weakness for pretty faces.

“Some… _one?_ ” Skull asks curiously.

Lal feels her cheeks warm slightly, and she fiddles with the coins in the cup holder of the center console. “We reached for the same apple,” she says, failing to elaborate.

Skull says nothing for a moment, and Lal relaxes, thinking the matter is over. She should know better, though—Skull is _never_ satisfied unless he gets all the details, and he proves as much when he huffs impatiently and asks, “Well?”

“She was beautiful. I stole the apple.”

“Lal, you’re killing me here,” he gripes. A beat passes. “Did you flirt with—oh my god.”

“Skull. That was our exit,” Lal says, arching one absolutely unimpressed eyebrow. She glances into the side view mirror, watches the exit sign shrink into the distance.

“Ughhhhh, this is all your fault,” he groans.

“Excuse me?” Lal asks, taken aback.

“Nevermind!” Skull backtracks, fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. “Anyways. While I find another exit and get us back on track, _you_ are going to tell me exactly what’s putting you into a funk.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Lal leans over, head thunking against the window.

Might as well.

*

Fortunately for her, by the time she gets home (with the new addition of one very disgruntled Viper in tow—they had _definitely_ not been happy about Skull’s tardiness in picking them up from their class), Lal has successfully buried the memory of her encounter at the market.

Skull, being the little shit that he is, teases her a little about it, prompting her to pinch his nose and threaten to withhold kisses for the rest of the day. After that he drops it (mostly), content to move onto other issues—namely the containment and relocation of a rogue robot Verde had unleashed upon the rest of them.

The chaos adequately pushes the last remaining vestiges of embarrassment firmly out of her mind, and for the following week she knows peace.

(Well—relatively. Lal has long since resigned herself to the fact that she’ll never have _true_ solace.)

The next Saturday, Lal takes another trip to the farmers’ market. Her wallet certainly won’t thank her for this, but she can’t help it. She’s been spoiled by fresh produce.

Today Skull’s busy ferrying Fon back and forth across town for errands, so Lal’s rounds conclude with a short walk to the nearby bus stop. Dead leaves crunch underfoot as she goes, more drifting down on the wind to rest on the sidewalk. They’re gathered in dense clumps around the bottom of the bench where the breeze can’t reach them anymore, and Lal uses her foot to sweep some aside into a small pile. She sits down, crossing her legs and putting her groceries onto the floor next to her. A quick look at her phone shows there’s still about twenty minutes to go until the bus arrives.

Lal spends the first few minutes of the wait staring at her shoes, and the silence is only broken when someone else walks into view and sits at the opposite end of the bench from her.

“Good morning,” they say, and Lal turns her head to—

Ah—

_Ah._

She’s suddenly all-too-aware of the apple stealing incident of last week. Lal wishes she could scrub that from her memory so that she could actually talk to this woman without feeling like she wants to sink through the floor.

“Hello,” Lal says, forcing her voice to be level and shoving her hands in her pockets. She can explain the tinge to her face as a by-product of the cold, can’t she? “I’m… sorry about last week.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The woman chuckles, shoulders hunching forwards with her movement. “You left a good impression on me.”

“Ah, um.” Lal clears her throat. “Impression?”

“I’m Luce,” the woman introduces instead of elaborating.

 _Luce._ Lal can barely meet her eyes.

“Lal,” she responds in kind, hoping she doesn’t look as red as she feels.

“Lal,” Luce repeats, as though she’s testing out the name. “I like that. I—I’m sorry if this is sudden, but would you like to get coffee with me sometime?”

Lal laughs in surprise. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Is that all right with you?” Luce asks earnestly.

“More than,” Lal says. “But if you don’t mind—I’m going to have to run that by my partners first.”

“Partners?” Luce inquires, sounding slightly taken aback.

Lal tries not to let her smile drop, or the hope in her chest to flicker out. That’s… usually the sticking point, for those who flirt with her. She knows the relationship she has with her partners isn’t exactly conventional and that the mere mention of more than one significant other tends to drive people away.

“Yes,” Lal confirms. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Oh—I don’t think so?” Luce says, voice pitching upwards toward the end. “I have to admit that I don’t have any actual experience with multiple partners but it’s, um. Something I’m definitely open to?”

It takes a moment for that to sink in, but when it does Lal is all smiles, warmth coursing through her. “Okay,” she says, and then she says it again just to give herself some repetition. “Okay. Let me talk to them and—they’ll probably want to meet you, of course, uh—can I have your number?”

The look Luce gives her is nothing short of angelic and Lal nearly melts into a puddle right then and there.

“Of course.”


	2. to you, a single breath away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lal knows lots of things: how to start a fire in the rain and skin a rabbit, how to hide bruised wrists and cheerfully smile for Mama's sake. What she doesn't know yet is this: sun kissed hands that show her how to climb trees and shared laughter leaning over a crawfish hole, knees buried in the mud. Who said that nothing ever happened in the countryside?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: domestic abuse (not explicit)

Moving, for Lal, was something of an inevitability. She was a military brat through and through—every time her family seemed to settle, it was time to move away yet again. Eventually, she stopped seeing the use in making friends. Why bother putting forth the effort when she would be leaving in just a few short months?

That way of thinking came to a burning, fiery, violent end the year Lal turned eight. They had just moved to yet another town: a small, rural community where lazy houses rested on sprawling fields, separated by miles of waist high prairie grass and acres of woodland. The town was sleepy, only ever roused by the occasional speeding violation or drug offense.

Lal’s mother was a bit hesitant to live in the country. She fretted about the day they moved in, long skirts billowing in the wind as she hurried around, making sure everything was going precisely as planned. Lal, of course, had insisted on helping the movers bring boxes inside. She proudly paraded about in front of her mother, pencil-thin arms straining from the weight, but desperate to see the delight on Mama’s face as she laughed.

While the movers were carefully bringing the sofa into the house, Lal clung to her mother’s apron and watched as her mother examined the gate of the chicken run for any rust. A loud voice blasted through the tranquility of the moment, thoughtlessly shattering it like glass.

“Hey! Are you guys the new neighbors?”

Lal spun around to face where the voice had originated from, eyes catching on sun-kissed skin and hair the color of raw honey. Bright, expectant blue eyes stared back at her, cheeks rosy red from how hard they were straining to contain the boy’s wide grin with the force of its cheer.

“Oh!” Lal’s mother exclaimed, one hand lowering to rest between Lal’s pointy shoulder blades, “We are! And who might you be, young man?”

“Colonnello!” the boy yelled back, so excited he popped up onto the tips of his toes. He smiled charmingly up at Mama, shoving a hand out at Lal for a handshake. The motion was forceful enough that it looked as though his arm would pop out of its socket. “What’s your name?”

Lal felt herself blush a little. She’d never had to deal with anyone her age outside of school. Even there, it was simple enough to scare everyone off with a scowl. Brushing away the hesitance, Lal reached out to grasp Colonnello’s hand and pumped it once, twice firmly—just the way she had seen her dad do it. “I’m Lal,” she greeted, relaxing her hand to break the handshake.

Colonnello tightened his grip and peered up at Mama, mouth curling into something truly mischievous even as his eyes got bigger. “Umm, is it okay if we go play? This is the first time I’ve got a neighbor close to my age!”

Lal’s mother smiled anxiously at the two of them, one hand going up to clutch at her side. Lal had caught a glimpse of the purpling shadow hidden there when her Mama had stretched up to get the bowls for their breakfast out of a cabinet. Indigo and green, just like the blueberries they’d had with their oatmeal.

Lal’s dad wasn’t meant to show up until the weekend, but some habits were hard to break. Lal watched her mom take a deep breath in while she schooled her features into something more relaxed. 

“Well, I suppose that’s alright for today. She’s done plenty to help,” her mother smiled softly, “Please stay with her, though. We don’t know our way around just yet and I would hate for you two to get lost.”

“Of course!” Colonnello cheered, spinning around to dash down the hill. He pulled Lal along with him, shouting out a thank you over his shoulder while they ran as though he was scared her mom would change her mind.

“H-Hey!” Lal couldn’t help but object, running as well to keep from tripping and falling, “Don’t I get a say in this!?”

And so marked the beginning of _the most epic-est, most amazing friendship ever!_ —or so Colonnello would say. Lal would laugh at him and call him a dork.

Lal’s family moved in at the beginning of summer. Her and Colonnello’s days were spent wading down creeks, fishing for crawfish, flipping cow patties, and running absolutely wild through people’s yards. 

It was the most fun Lal had ever had in her life. She wondered when it would end.

Colonnello showed her the best climbing tree in town: a gnarled, ancient oak that towered above the rest of the woods. It was as thick around as _fifty_ Lals. Well, according to Colonnello.

He taught her how to climb it, gently coaxing her through all of the handholds and laughing at her when she got stuck. Of course, Lal had always been a quick study and, according to her papa, was physically talented from the moment she left the womb. It didn’t take long for those climbing days to turn into Lal laughing at Colonnello from high up in the tree branches, taunting him as he struggled to pull himself up another branch.

In return for the climbing lessons, Lal showed Colonnello the baby chicks her mother had bought to raise—the early beginnings of a huge flock of hens so that they would have fresh eggs and meat. Colonnello was absolutely love-struck when he saw them, collapsing onto his knees and holding out his hands as they _cheeped_ and jumped on him. He had turned to Lal with the softest, sweetest expression--one that had her blushing to her ears then and there and had left her confused by her own reaction.

Of course, the gooey feeling in her chest quickly gave way to laughter when one of the chicks relieved itself on Colonnello’s hands and he dramatically dry-heaved. He’d never been good with body-fluids. This, of course, led to him tackling her into the hay, tickling her mercilessly with his gross, chicken poop hands. Mama had laughed herself silly when they tumbled in through the back door to wash their hands (and bodies), sweaty and utterly filthy, loose hay fluttering to the ground around them like a cloud of the grossest snow in existence.

Some days, Papa took her away for wilderness camping and, as much as she had loved those private, quiet moments with her dad, she found herself missing Colonnello more than anything else. He brightened up her days so much that Lal couldn’t even remember what life was like without him. In just a few, short weeks, Colonnello had rooted himself so firmly into Lal’s life that she couldn’t imagine leaving him.

Fear lingered, though. Mama had managed to keep Papa’s special drinks out of the house thus far, but it was only a matter of time before it made its way back into the pantry. The closest house was Colonnello’s, which was a ten minute walk _only_ if she took the shortcut, so Lal wasn’t too concerned about people asking about the screaming and sound of shattering glass.

That summer, Colonnello insisted on building a treehouse.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun, Lal!” he begged, swinging a stick to bounce off the tree trunks as they wandered through the woods.

“And _where_ exactly do you think we’ll get the wood?” she scoffed back, eight and fresh off the exhilaration of learning to be a know-it-all, tucking her hands into her jorts pockets. Her mom had tied her hair up into pigtails that morning in a desperate attempt to keep sticks out of it, but Lal had already torn it loose because Colonnello had once told her it looked pretty when she wore it down.

“Lal, look around us. We’re in the _woods_! How much more wood _would_ you ask for?”

Lal groaned at his cheesy pun, rolling her head back to stretch her neck. “Well, I guess we could just pick up the branches that’ve already fallen.”

She could have sworn she heard him mutter something under his breath about a chainsaw, but a sharp look from her had him miming zipping his lips.

“Where are you wanting to put it?”

“Our tree?” he asked hopefully, baby blue eyes going round and sweeter than spun sugar. The little brat had found her weakness…she could never say no to his puppy-dog eyes.

“I’m not too sure about that,” she hummed idly, pretending to internally debate while she tapped her finger on her bottom lip.

“Aww, pretty please? I’ll bring ya some of Ma’s sourdough next time she bakes? I’ll even help her out some!”

“Deal!” Lal victoriously crowed. Colonello’s mama baked the _best_ bread—it was the envy of the town’s entire growing population of housewives and his mama never _ever_ shared the recipe. Colonnello claimed that all it took to make bread taste yummy was love, but Lal wasn’t too sure about that. It sounded like some mushy girly stuff that he’d heard on the radio. All the recipes _she’d_ seen called for flour and water, at least.

Colonnello pouted at her when he realized he’d been tricked, but his sunny grin quickly returned when Lal playfully knocked her shoulder against his and took off at a dead sprint. “Race you to the tree!” she yelled over her shoulder, laughing breathlessly at his faint, appalled cry about her cheating ways.

The treehouse they ended up making was…well, shitty. Loose tree limbs were lashed together with extra hay bale wire, secured on the tree with crooked, spare nails and a hammer that Lal had snuck out of the back shed while her parents were arguing in the house. It was more a platform than anything. They tied up old, moth-eaten blankets to serve as walls, weighing them down with bricks to keep them from flapping too badly in the wind.

Leaves frequently fell inside and they were constantly having to sweep out the dirt. When it rained, they had to huddle underneath the single sheet of aluminum they’d managed to secure and pray that the wind didn’t blow _too_ much water into them. Bugs always snuck inside despite Colonnello posting a sign that clearly stated _Nello and Lal ONLY._

It was absolutely perfect. Lal didn’t ever want to leave.

“Mama? Are we moving again?” she asked one night as her mother brushed her hair with trembling hands. She could hear Papa swearing up a storm outside the window, screaming about how he’d make them sorry as soon as Mama unlocked the doors and let him back in again. She always did eventually.

“Oh, Lal,” her mother whispered, voice as shaky as her lips. “Not now, darling. Please, let’s just get you ready for bed.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” Lal confessed shamefaced, meeting her mother’s eyes in her vanity mirror, butterflies molded in the wood surrounding it. Mama’s left eye was quickly darkening, staining her pale skin a hideous purple all the way to her temple.

“Baby, _please_ not now,” her mother sniffled, breaking the stare-off to refocus on detangling Lal’s wet hair with a wide-tooth comb and green-apple scented spray.

“Okay,” Lal hummed, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and trying to ignore the sound of her dad sobbing muffled, wet apologies and promises to do better into the back door.

Her parents both smiled kindly at Lal the next morning from the breakfast table when she trotted down the hall and into the kitchen. Colonnello was already waiting for her by the back door, bouncing up on his toes and swinging his tin bucket around wildly. Lal’s mom handed her some raw, thick-cut bacon from the Gallo’s five miles down the main road, all nicely wrapped up in beeswax paper to serve as crawfish bait with a gentle smile and a soft, “Good morning, dear!”, bruises well-covered under layers of makeup.

Lal waved goodbye and darted out the door without hesitation, grabbing Colonnello’s hand on the way out and dragging him along behind her. Laughingly, he followed.

With August came the deafening cries of cicadas and the beginning of the school year. Lal and Colonnello were in different homerooms and the change to their daily routine felt absolutely brutal. Lal would glance to her side to ask Colonnello a question and instead be met with the sight of the girl who always wore her hair in a braid dutifully taking notes. She refused to allow her studies to fail because of a _boy_ —even if that boy _was_ her best friend—so Lal threw herself into her schoolwork, intent on making straight A’s.

The same couldn’t be said for Colonnello, who spent every break between classes slung over the back of Lal’s chair, whining into her ear about the latest dumb thing his teacher had said and would use his bathroom slips to wave at Lal through the classroom door.

It was embarrassing, but Lal found herself secretly pleased every time he showed up. After classes ended, he waited for her by the school gate, swinging his bag mindlessly and holding both his and her bikes. Together, they biked to Lal’s house—it was closer to the school—and bent over the kitchen table together with homework sheets in hand. 

Colonnello always tried to rush through, scribbling answers he _knew_ were wrong, but not caring enough to find—or remember—the right ones. Lal always scolded him for it and took her time. Learning wasn’t necessarily easy for her like it was for some kids, but she got by on hard work. Colonnello always huffed and whined at her for taking so long, but he would eventually correct his work as well and ask Lal for help if he got lost. Together, they powered through the more challenging problems, all with the eventual goal of playing outside in mind. 

As soon as they finished, Colonnello would stuff his work back into his bag and they’d rush out of the house to hop onto Colonnello’s bike, Lal balancing precariously on the handlebars and calling out directions.

It was almost too easy, Lal realized in retrospect, to forget the kind of world she lived in.

“We’re moving,” her father informed Lal and her mother at breakfast one morning, coughing slightly as he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I’ve got a house just about ready for us in the south of France.”

Lal’s mother looked down at her lap with a tight smile and silence. The scarf wrapped around her neck today was a dark, deep blue to match Lal’s hair.

“ _France!_ ” Lal yelped, standing up so quickly that her chair was knocked back. “What are we doing moving to France? Why can’t we stay here?”

“Because I said so!” Papa snapped, slamming one hand on the table. The noise was loud enough to make him wince; he was still probably hungover from last night. “I won’t be having my own family questioning me on my decisions.”

Lal pursed her lips, but she didn’t want her dad to see her cry. It always got him more riled up when they cried. Instead of risking that, Lal turned and ran out the back door, ignoring her dad’s furious shouts after her and her mother’s more faint, begging pleas for him to calm down.

She ran down the hill and slipped into the woods, sprinting until her and Colonnello’s tree came into sight. Tears started streaming as soon as she made it up into their treehouse despite her attempts to hold them back. She buried her face into her arms and cried, sobbing at the unfairness of the world.

Colonnello’s small hand eventually pressed into the small of her back, startling her enough that she jolted forward with a small shriek. He looked concerned, ridiculous brows creased and upper lip stuck out in concentration—it was so quintessentially _him_ that Lal couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, even through the tears. His face only made her want to cry even more, though, so it wasn’t long until Colonnello pulled her forward to blubber wordlessly into his shoulder.

“Who do I need to beat up?” he asked, uncharacteristically serious, once she’d calmed down a bit. Lal tried to pull back, but he just hugged her tighter, resting his own head against hers. “I’m serious. It doesn’t matter who! I’ll take care of it.”

“First of all,” Lal hiccuped, “You know for a fact that I can beat up anyone on my own, you big baby.”

“Hey! Who’s the one crying here?”

“And _second_ of all,” Lal interrupted, lip trembling as she forced herself to speak the words, “I’m moving.”

“What?!” Colonnello grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her back so that he could look into her eyes. “Moving?”

“Yeah,” Lal sniffled, reaching up to try and rub her tears away. “ _Moving_.”

“Where to?” Colonello asked, voice small.

“ _France_ ,” Lal choked out.

“Is that far?”

“You idiot!” Lal smacked his shoulder—gently, always gently—and scowled at him, sniffing away the last of her tears. “It’s only another _country_. Do you not pay attention in class?”

Colonnello looked absolutely devastated. “So no one hit you?”

“Why would you think that?”

“You’re bruised,” Colonnello gestured to her forearms, which each had a ring of bruises around the wrist. She was supposed to have worn long sleeves today, but hadn’t grabbed her jacket on the way out of the house in her haste. Embarrassed, she tugged her arms into herself, crossing them across her chest.

“That’s something different. It doesn’t matter.”

Colonnello was frowning at her, looking thoroughly unconvinced, but he let the subject drop. “Well, what do we do?” he asked, scooting forward so he could sit next to Lal, leaning against her shoulder and folding her hand into his. “D’ya think if we ask our parents you can live with me?”

He said it so convincingly that Lal could only giggle, pressing her face into his shoulder to hide her grin. “I wish,” she whispered, so quietly even she could hardly hear it.

“What was that?”

“I said don’t be ridiculous. I have to go.”

Colonnello pouted at the ground, lips pursed so tightly Lal _knew_ that he was devoting all of his attention to thinking. It was the look he wore while trying to do long division—not that Lal could blame him, she struggled with it too.

“Well then!” he suddenly shouted, startling Lal off his shoulder. He climbed to his feet and held out a hand for her to grab, hauling her up with an ease that made her heart flutter. “If you’re leaving, then I guess we’ll have to make the most of our time!”

“…Yeah,” Lal smiled back, keeping his hand in hers. “Let’s do that!”

The next few days were filled with laughter, packing boxes, slacking on homework, screaming arguments, bike rides at sunset, Papa drinking until he couldn’t stand, and, most importantly, long nights lying on the floor of their shitty treehouse watching the stars, Lal’s hand tightly held by Colonnello’s larger one and laughter-flushed cheeks, legs tangled together underneath the scratchy wool blanket Colonnello had stolen from his house. 

It was perfect.

It was the perfect storm.

Something startled Lal awake, one week before they were due to board a plane and leave Lal’s favorite place. She couldn’t tell _what_ exactly it had been, but the silence that occupied the house was unnatural. Lal sat up in bed, swinging her legs off the side of the mattress and debating if she should even go and check it out. Her mom always told her to never come out at night, but it was odd for Lal to not be able to hear _one_ of them crying, at least.

Concern won against common sense and Lal slid off the bed, unlocking her door with a gentle click—all of the rooms had locks on the inside, Mama had insisted. She padded down the dark hall, footsteps against the hardwood muffled by her slippers, glancing into different rooms with a sort of curious indifference. She eventually came across her mother sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, head in her hands. The moonlight was streaming in through the window above the sink, reflecting against Mama’s dark hair and lighting up the gentle, beautiful curve of her neck before it disappeared into the collar of her night robe.

“Mama?”

Lal’s mother jolted like she had been electrocuted, stiffening sharply and head snapping over to look at Lal with wild, terrified eyes. She relaxed a little when she recognized Lal, shoulders beginning to tremble and a quiet, almost desperate noise leaving her.

“Baby,” she choked out, reaching out to Lal with wide, scared eyes. “Oh, darling, what am I supposed to _do_?”

Lal stepped into her mom’s embrace without hesitation, leaning against her shoulder and hugging back. “Mom, where’s Dad?” she asked. Lal couldn’t even hear him snoring. Unusual, considering he typically practically shook the walls at night.

Lal’s mother dropped her arms, going back to cupping her face in her hands over Lal’s head. This time, sobs wracked her thin frame. Lal pulled back and, following the stream of the moonlight, glanced behind her, through the open doors and into the living room. Even using kind words, it looked like a scene straight out of a slasher flick. At the center of it all was Lal’s dad, shotgun loosely hanging from his limp hand.

“What do I do, Lal Mirch?” her mom sobbed behind her. A forced calm took hold of Lal, mind running a thousand miles an hour as it desperately tried to figure out a solution to the problem placed before her. She had never naturally been talented in school, but Lal had always excelled during her wilderness campouts with Papa. At the end of them, her dad always ruffled her hair with the handsome, roguish grin Mama had fallen in love with and told her how proud he was of her.

“It’s alright, Mom,” Lal tried to make her voice comforting and soft—two things she typically failed to be. “Don’t worry, I can take care of this. Just stay calm, okay? I can fix this.”

Lal’s mother sobbed into her hands. “He was hurting you,” she tried to explain through her tears. “He was never supposed to hurt you, Baby. Never, ever.”

“Stay calm, Mom,” Lal whispered rather than saying any of the million other responses that sat on the tip of her tongue. “You don’t have to worry.”

It didn’t really hit Lal until four days later when she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder next to Colonnello at her father’s funeral and listening to the pastor pray over the casket. Her mother wasn’t attending, having fallen ill from stress only a day after the body had been discovered. It had been a suicide, the mortician declared.

After the service, Colonnello stayed by her side, her hand tightly clasped in his while attendees offered their condolences. Lal’s tongue was going numb from the amount of meaningless _thank yous_ she had been dutifully doling out.

“Are you okay?” he whispered that night, face lit up by a flashlight while they hid underneath Lal’s covers and tried to make increasingly-complicated shadow puppets in their homemade theatre composed solely of Lal’s flower-print sheets and their own, childish imagination.

“Yeah,” Lal replied, butterflies fluttering about in her stomach when he leaned forward to press into her side. “I’m okay now.”

“Yup,” Colonnello grinned up at her, sliding sideways so his head rested in her lap. “No more bruises, yeah?”

Lal grinned back, reaching backwards to grab a pillow to jokingly smother Colonnello with. “Yeah!” she laughily agreed to the sound of breathless, dramatic choking.

They fell asleep together like that, curled into one another and hands tightly clasped together. The moon was bright, the crickets were chirping, and Lal didn’t have to move.

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily ever after (up until they get caught up in a budding criminal mastermind's wicket plot to steal a pack of gum from the corner 7-11)
> 
> thanks for reading, loves, and have a happy new years~
> 
> ☆*ヾ(-∀・*)*+☆

**Author's Note:**

> im begging all of you to look at the wonderful [art](https://r0d30-brqt.tumblr.com/post/635852500596113408/i-drew-somethings-for-pridesharks-fic-enjoy) that [r0d30-brqt](https://r0d30-brqt.tumblr.com) on tumblr drew for chapter one!!!! i cannot get over how good it is WAH


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